


Carry On Without Me

by HixyStix



Series: 2020 Kalluzeb Appreciation Week [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Hobbie Klivian lives damn it, Kallus is an idiot, M/M, Minor Chava, Minor Hobbie Klivian, Minor Jacen Syndulla, Minor Wedge Antilles, Post-Canon, Pulling in some Legends Characters in the background, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:49:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23857141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HixyStix/pseuds/HixyStix
Summary: Screams pierce the air, as do lasat battle cries and growls.  Kallus takes shelter behind a pillar.  From another pillar a meter or so away, Maks tosses him one of the new T-7 disruptors.  Steeling himself to try again, Kallus leaps back into the open.  A towering male lasat makes a run at him, blaster in hand.Kallus screams as well and pulls the trigger, terrified.  The lasat is practically unmade in front of his eyes, gone before he could know what happened, but so are the female and child he was trying to protect.This time, Kallus’s scream isn’t from fear of the lasats.AKA when it comes to guilt, Alexsandr Kallus is out of his competency zone.
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Series: 2020 Kalluzeb Appreciation Week [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1714975
Comments: 31
Kudos: 128
Collections: Kalluzeb appreciation week 2020.





	1. Instigation

**Author's Note:**

> Fills the prompt "Hurt/Comfort" for the Kalluzeb Appreciation Week 2020.
> 
> [JessKo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessKo/pseuds/JessKo) has made [a Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6MXWYkmINrDxEgEsbqcDao?si=CB95OYAvTD-Y9zmt18xY8Q) for this work!
> 
> I have used a few words of [Anath_Tsurugi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anath_Tsurugi/pseuds/Anath_Tsurugi)'s Lasana in this fic. A big thank you to her for creating it for the fandom and for letting me use it!
> 
> Another huge thank you to [whiplashcrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiplashcrash/pseuds/whiplashcrash) for a wonderful beta job!

Nights on Lira San were cold. It didn’t bother the furred lasats that lived there, but being human, Alexsandr Kallus needed to wrap himself tightly in a blanket as he stood on the porch of the little bungalow he shared with Zeb.

Shivering, wishing he’d stopped to put on socks, Kallus pulled the blanket tighter, instinctively watching the cluster of trees that grew around the bungalow for signs of movement. There weren’t any; every single creature on Lira San seemed to be asleep in these midnight hours.

Every single creature except Kallus, that was. He ought to have been, he knew. He ought to have been sleeping soundly in the knowledge that the Empire was defeated, that the people he loved were safe, and that Garazeb Orrelios loved him. They’d been on Lira San for nearly eight months, but sleep had eluded Kallus in recent weeks. Zeb, of course, was more relaxed than Kallus had ever seen, but that ease slipped through Kallus’s fingers like sand, or more correctly, ashes.

Kallus squeezed his eyes shut.

_Screams pierce the air, as do lasat battle cries and growls. Kallus takes shelter behind a pillar. From another pillar a meter or so away, Maks tosses him one of the new T-7 disruptors. Steeling himself to try again, Kallus leaps back into the open. A towering male lasat makes a run at him, blaster in hand._

_Kallus screams as well and pulls the trigger, terrified. The lasat is practically **unmade**_ _in front of his eyes, gone before he could know what happened, but so are the female and child he was trying to protect._

_This time, Kallus’s scream isn’t from fear of the lasats._

Two large, heavy hands settled on his shoulders, bringing him out of the vivid memory. Kallus found himself breathing hard and shaking, tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.

He was drawn into a hug, his back against Zeb’s chest. Even through the blanket, he felt the warmth of Zeb’s body. The lasat’s arms felt like a protective shield against the rest of the world. Instinctively, Kallus leaned into him.

“You’re awake again,” Zeb rumbled, lightly rubbing his cheeks into Kallus’s hair.

“This isn’t a new development,” Kallus said.

“No, it’s not.” Zeb stopped scenting him and made Kallus turn around. “But lately it’s been worse and you’ve got that look again.”

Genuinely confused, Kallus asked, “What look?”

“That look you used to get before volunteering for a suicide mission. Back when you acted like you wanted to die.”

Kallus bit his lip. Zeb saw right through him, as usual. Saw everything about him, laid bare as if he were opened on an operating table. And somehow, Zeb still loved him, or proclaimed to.

He _shouldn’t_. Not if Zeb knew Kallus as well as he seemed to.

Yet he did.

The tears began falling. Kallus was as helpless to stop them as he was to stop the flashbacks.

“Hey,” said Zeb, pulling him in for another hug. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I just want you to come back to bed with me and get some actual sleep.”

Kallus knew he wouldn’t sleep, despite the bone-weary exhaustion he felt, but going with Zeb would make his partner happy and that was something little he _could_ do. He nodded into Zeb’s chest, relishing the feel of fur on his cheeks. “Lead the way.”

Zeb let his hands slide down Kallus’s arms until he was holding his hands. Kallus let himself be led back into the bungalow’s cozy bedroom.

They settled into the human-style bed, Kallus nestled safely in Zeb’s arms. It took only minutes for Zeb to fall asleep, his snoring a familiar comfort. Kallus closed his eyes again, trying to sleep but only managing to stay awake, listening for the sounds of forest movement that signaled dawn.

Alex was gone, yet again, when Zeb woke up. Not surprising; he had been rising early since before they first roomed together on the _Ghost_. Not even his torture at Thrawn’s hands messed up the man’s internal chrono.

Rolling over, Zeb listened quietly for a moment, attempting to locate Alex by the sounds in their bungalow.

 _Water._ So, he was in the refresher. Zeb considered getting up and joining him but opted not to, preferring to wait under the quilts, where it was warm and smelled of Alex.

Soon enough, Alex came out of the refresher, towel wrapped around his waist and running his fingers through his hair to try and dry it.

Karabast, Zeb loved to see him like that, a little less put-together and, of course, bare of any clothes. Scars crossed his torso; Zeb loved them, too. They were proof of how brave his Alex had been.

 _His_ Alex. That was the best part of the whole thing. No more fighting on opposite sides. No more of the forced separation that came with Alex’s stint as Fulcrum. No more war to keep them apart. They could be themselves: a human and a lasat in love, living on peaceful Lira San.

“C’mere,” he said, throwing the covers back. “I can’t let you go outside looking like that.”

Alex dropped his hands to where the towel rested on his hips. “Looking like what?” he challenged.

“Looking good enough to eat. It would be obscene, so c’mere. Let me fix that.”

Alex quirked an eyebrow. “I just cleaned up, Zeb. If I come over there, what I’m going to _look like_ is thoroughly debauched. And I’ll get you wet.”

“You think I care about that?” Zeb nearly growled.

Alex smiled, something he was doing less of recently, and dropped the towel. When Alex climbed back on the bed, Zeb reached over and grabbed him, pulling Alex on top of him. The water droplets on his skin soaked into Zeb’s fur, but he didn’t care. What mattered to him was the feel of Alex’s skin, still warm from the hot shower, the taste of his kisses, and marking him so completely it would be obvious to any lasat who he belonged to.

_Me, possessive? Never…_

“Mm,” Alex hummed against Zeb’s lips. “How is this making me any more decent?”

“You really thought ‘decent’ was my goal?” Zeb ran a hand up the inside of Alex’s thigh, garnering a deep moan from the man. Smiling, Zeb pulled at Alex’s leg until the human was straddling him.

“Zeb, not this morning,” Alex moaned. “You know I love you, but…” 

His body was willing, Zeb could tell, but if he didn’t want sex, there were still plenty of things they could do. He’d be content just holding Alex there in the warmth of their bed. 

Alex nuzzled his face into Zeb’s neck, unerringly hitting that sweet spot that made Zeb purr.

“Can we stay here all day?” Alex murmured.

Zeb almost immediately said yes but realized he couldn’t make that promise. “Can’t. Got that meeting with the court historian. Sorry.” The royal family of Lira San was interested in not just the fall of Lasan – from both sides – but also their exploits as Rebels. Zeb had a sneaking suspicion they were planning some sort of honor ceremony for the two of them, but he couldn’t prove it just yet.

“Ngh.” Alex burrowed his face deeper into Zeb’s fur, hands gripping the pillows tightly. “Cancel it. I want you to hold me like this forever. Forget everything else exists.”

 _I really want to do just that. I want you to **know** how much I want that with you._ Zeb ran his hands up and down Alex’s back, smiling. Giving Alex’s bottom a quick squeeze, he asked, “I’m in, but what are we going to do when we get hungry?”

Alex shook his head without lifting it. “We can break, but it’s straight back to bed after.”

“Okay,” Zeb said warmly. “We can at least stay here until it’s time for our appointment.”

Alex sighed. “Look at you, being the responsible one.”

“I have my moments.”

Lifting his head, Alex looked Zeb in the eyes. “I would stay here with you forever if I could. I want you to know that.”

Zeb pulled Alex’s face down the short distance it took to kiss him. “I know that. I would stay with you forever, too.”

Alex smiled, but Zeb knew him well enough to recognize the sad look in those eyes. Somehow, Zeb had said the wrong thing. He compensated for his apparent mistake by hugging Alex tighter.

Afraid to move after saying something he shouldn’t have, Zeb was still while Alex rested his head on his shoulder. Movement wasn’t necessary, though. The important thing to Zeb was the contact.

“I love you,” Zeb said softly. He needed Alex to know that.

Alex moved his head just enough to be heard. “I love you, too, Zeb. Whatever happens, I _do_ love you.”

_The ambush is sudden and deadly effective. Kallus has just enough time to see his compatriots – his **brothers**_ _– fall before a bolt hits his helmet._

_The thing keeps him alive, but sends him spinning, both literally and figuratively. Kallus crashes to the ground, ears ringing and vision swimming. The ringing begins to fade, but so does his vision and Kallus fights it but cannot win. He falls into darkness._

_The next thing Kallus knows, it is all over. He wakes to an awful silence. For a moment, he wonders if he has gone deaf, but then someone screams and he knows it isn’t true._

_It takes a few horrifying minutes to be able to move again, but he drags himself to the nearest wall, using it to lean against. The battlefield is strewn with the bodies of his company. Kallus can tell some are still alive from the feeble movements they make, but most are obviously dead, with grotesque and undoubtedly fatal injuries._

_Saw Gerrera’s men move quietly through the field, ending every life they find. Kallus sees the lasat mercenary coming his way, watches the merc brazenly ignore the fires burning all around them, long before the lasat notices him. He watches as the lasat uses a vibroblade to slit the throats of Djem and Pedree, both begging for mercy with their last breaths. Kallus will never forget the sound of their pleas and the deeply sickening sound of the lasat’s blade across their throats._

_The lasat then spots Kallus and walks over, a terrible grin on its face. He holds the vibroblade to Kallus’s throat and his grin widens. “Shame to kill a pretty young thing like you,” he says. “I’ll just have to leave you something to remember me by.”_

_He gives Kallus the first of many scars he will receive: long, deep slashes across his chest made with sharp claws, worse than the vibroblades. Kallus stays silent, afraid to call any more attention to himself. The lasat rips off Kallus’s helmet and grabs his face with stained fingers – Kallus’s own blood._

_“You may die out here, Imperial,” the lasat hisses. “Or your people may find you. Either way, know that we will stop at nothing to bring down your precious Emperor. Be prepared for much, much worse than today.”_

_He stands and walks away._

_“Alex,” the lasat says as he goes. “Alex!”_

Kallus opened his eyes to find Zeb looking up at him worriedly. He’d been asleep on Zeb’s chest, apparently.

“Alex, you had another nightmare,” Zeb said, lightly tracing Kallus’s face with his claws – so impossibly gentle compared to the lasat on Onderon.

Kallus couldn’t speak just yet, still caught in the horror of his dream – or was it a memory? – so he nodded. A glance over at the chrono told him it was time to get ready to meet the court historian; he couldn’t stand being late, a remnant of his Imperial days. Reluctantly, he rolled off of Zeb and stretched. “If we have to do this, it’s time to get up,” he chided Zeb gently.

Zeb grinned toothily at him. “I s’pose it is. You first.”

He gave the back of Zeb’s hand a quick kiss and rose, pulling an outfit for the day out of their wardrobe. Kallus had spent so much of his life living out of a trunk that it was still strange to have that much room, that many belongings.

Zeb made an appreciative noise as Kallus pulled on his underwear and Kallus smiled a little. Lasat did not use underclothes, so the idea of lingerie or even simple cotton briefs confused the lasat at first. He was a fan of it now, though, at least on Kallus.

Kallus pulled on his shirt, a lasat-style piece with a wide collar, pairing it with some pants from their rebel days. Only after he was fully clothed did Zeb get up and pull on one of his ubiquitous jumpsuits. Kallus took his turn watching Zeb dress, trying to memorize the way Zeb’s muscles moved under all that fur and the mischievous grin Zeb gave him when he realized Kallus was looking.

It was the little moments like this he never wanted to forget. That he never _would_ forget.

Before long, they were in the speeder, headed back to the capital city and palace. They could have walked – they lived on the outskirts of town – but the speeder was much quicker and Zeb seemed to love the windblown look Kallus got from the open topped speeder. Kallus had learned to stop caring so much about how his hair looked after a speeder trip, recognizing that lasats didn’t care and that Zeb in particular liked him a little disheveled.

What an Imperial he would make these days. An open xenophiliac with shaggy hair and a sloppy dress code; his superiors would have had him court martialed the instant they saw him.

Lira San’s capital city was full of beautiful architecture, stone buildings edged with a peculiar purple wood, carvings and reliefs done with care decorating the walls and faces of buildings. Plant life bloomed along every pristine street and two streams made their way through town. Kallus couldn’t believe the place was real sometimes; it seemed more like something from a children’s story. He looked around as Zeb drove them to the palace, marveling even though he had been this way many times before. He pressed in closely to Zeb, using the moment to relish the way the lasat smelled, how his fur felt against Kallus’s skin.

The historian, a bent over elderly lasat with a twisted white beard, met them at the door and eagerly ushered them in from the cold. He eagerly began questioning them as soon as what could be considered polite after offering drinks and guiding them to seats in his home. He took a seat by the fireplace while Zeb and Kallus sat opposite him on a tall couch. Zeb immediately splayed out, comfortable, while Kallus sat rigid.

This visit, the historian focused on Kallus’s experience on Lasan, asking leading questions to get Kallus to set up the scene.

Trying not to shudder every time he thought of his acts that day, Kallus answered politely and thoroughly.

Sometime into the conversation, the historian looked up from his notes. “And the guardsman gifted you his bo-rifle? The _Boosahn Keeraw?_ ”

Kallus nodded, trying to respectfully describe the last action taken by the dying guardsman. He’d faced the guardsman with only an electrostaff. It had been a long, tough fight, but Kallus had retained the slightest upper hand. The lasat had to have faced many opponents already that day while Kallus had mostly used blasters or the T-7 disruptors.

His stomach knotted as he spoke, regretting each of his actions that day. To be fair, if he hadn’t been there, he probably never would have met Zeb on Lothal, but it would have been better for Zeb if he’d successfully defended his planet and stayed there with his people. Lira San was full of lasats, but it wasn’t the same, Kallus knew. They didn’t replace the family Zeb lost. The culture was different, as was the language. Lira San Lasana was more fanciful than Lasan Lasana, full of colorful phrases, unique words, and idioms that Zeb didn’t know how to interpret. Kallus was still trying to learn this dialect, but in a way, they both were learning. At least Basic still survived on this planet or their first few months would have been very difficult for them both.

Zeb sat quietly through Kallus’s rendition of the cleansing of Lasan, though Kallus knew it had to be hard for him. Zeb felt things so deeply but he was good at hiding them.

It was a skill one had to develop in war – and Zeb had been at war ever since Lasan fell.

Kallus squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to let the guilt well up and overwhelm him. He tried to tell himself that even if he and his company had protested their orders, they weren’t the only units there, that the massacre still would have happened. All that would have happened differently is that Kallus would have been shoved up against a wall and shot in the head.

That knowledge didn’t really help, however. The truth was Kallus _hadn’t_ questioned his orders. He’d believed he was doing the right, just as he’d believed his entire ISB career. All the tortures, all the innocent people imprisoned, assassinated, or outright murdered.

His heart clenched, as did his stomach. Kallus didn’t know how much longer he could talk before he broke down and made Zeb have to put him back on his feet.

 _Sithspit,_ _I really am useless_. At least during the war, he had the skills for Intelligence work. On Lira San, there was nothing asked of him except to relive his most shameful moments.

He could not continue living as he was. Lira San was too comfortable and safe. He hadn’t earned that sort of life; he would eventually end up being a cancer in Lira San’s society, twisting it along with his own cruel nature. Kallus tried so very hard to be kind, but it wasn’t enough, not in his mind. He knew the monster lurking just beneath the surface.

Things had to change. Kallus just had to decide _how._

Zeb woke alone again. He listened for any sign of Alex, but the bungalow was silent.

Too silent.

_Alex must be on the porch. Or maybe he’s running in the woods. I wish he would have waited for me to join him. Oh well, either way, he’ll like some caf._

Zeb hummed to himself as he sleepily stumbled around the kitchen while the caf brewed, an old Lasan lullaby his mother used to sing. He wondered if the melody was known here on Lira San, too. He’d have to ask one of their neighbors someday.

The caf machine beeped and Zeb poured two large mugs, adding just the amount of cream and sugar Alex preferred to one of them. 

It was funny to Zeb. He’d always pictured Alex as the type to drink caf black and unsweetened, but apparently the man had a sweet tooth. His perfect cup of caf had so much cream it was nearly white and a heavy dose of whatever sweetener was lying around. It turned out _Zeb_ was the tough one when it came to taste.

Smiling at the thought, Zeb carried the mugs out the front door.

No Alex.

 _Must be jogging_ , _then_. Zeb waited for him.

He sat there in the warm yellow light of day, listening to all Lira San’s fauna waking for the day and announcing their presence to the world, imagining all the things he’d like to do to Alex when he made it home, sweaty and sore. Zeb gave great massages, if he said so himself.

An hour passed and still Alex was gone. The run was taking unusually long. Zeb took the caf back inside to get a refill and reheat Alex’s.

That was when he saw the rock. He stopped short and looked at the small red rock holding down a piece of flimsi, feeling a sense of increasing dread.

Setting down the caf, he picked up the flimsi, recognizing Alex’s handwriting right away.

He read the note three times, each time in more shock than the last. Surely he was reading this wrong…?

Deep in his heart, he knew Alex told the truth, or the truth as he saw it.

Zeb crumpled the flimsi in one hand and punched the wall with the other, busting a hole and his knuckles at the same time.

He stormed off to the speeder outside, leaving the wrinkled flimsi lying on the kitchen floor, still legible.

> _Ni Garazeb,_
> 
> _I want you to know this wasn’t an easy decision. But I love you more than I can say and that is why I had to do this._
> 
> _I am a cruel person who has done many terrible things. Nothing can change that. I have not earned a life with you and you deserve more than I can ever give. I’m going back out into the galaxy to see if I can become a better person. The kind of person you ought to love._
> 
> _Perhaps someday, I will earn my return. Until then, I beg you: don’t follow me. Stay on Lira San and enjoy your well-deserved rewards. Thinking of you here will keep me going._
> 
> _I love you,_
> 
> _Alexsandr_


	2. Kallus

Kallus left in the early morning hours, when Zeb slept the deepest. Silently, he packed clothes into a rucksack left over from their Rebel days, one that once carried munitions. At one point, he could have used this bag to physically hurt someone; now he was using it to hurt Zeb. It was for his own good, though. Kallus left behind all comms and datapads, anything that could be traced, taking only physical credits and his New Republic ID in his pocket – only because it was necessary for getting off-planet.

He resisted the urge to kiss Zeb one last time. It would have been too easy to accidentally wake him, no matter how deeply he slept, ruining all of Kallus’s carefully made plans.

Settling instead for a last long look at his partner, Kallus said a quiet prayer to the Ashla that Zeb would be taken care of. That he would understand. That he would move on and find someone more deserving of his love.

 _It’s their first kiss, just after the Lothal Imperial Complex is destroyed. It happens suddenly, unexpectedly. One moment Kallus is yelling at Zeb for his_ utter stupidity _going after Rukh like that; Zeb is yelling at him for yelling, and the next thing he knows, he’s in Zeb’s arms, their lips crushed together desperately. Zeb will forever swear Kallus made the first move, but Kallus knows the action wasn’t unilateral._

_Zeb strokes hair back from Kallus’s face and scents him. Kallus has no idea what is happening, not yet, but he knows he likes it. He doesn’t ever want to let go of Zeb._

_But people are staring now and they have to help Lothal start to clean up after the attack. Have to help put Hera back together after losing both Kanan and Ezra so close together. Have to prepare for the seemingly inevitable Imperial retaliation._

_They separate, both embarrassed. Kallus knows his cheeks are coloring, but he straightens his shirt and heads off, out of view of everyone, so he can process what just happened._

_He doesn’t expect Zeb to join him._

Reluctantly, he shut his eyes, turned from the bed, and left.

After Lira San opened itself back up to the greater galaxy, a bi-weekly shuttle ran from the capital to the nearest major spaceport, Batuu. He booked passage last-minute under his own name; he was happy for Zeb to be able to trace him off-planet, but once he reached Batuu, his trail would vanish.

The ISB taught their agents well. So had Rebel Intelligence. Kallus was more than confident in his ability to disappear so completely that Zeb would never find him if he was fool enough to come looking. He’d find a new life, something unglamorous that still made a difference in the galaxy. That helped people, even if it was only on a small scale.

Kallus found his seat on the dawn shuttle, one of very few non-lasats on board. They seemed to be visiting dignitaries and traders seeking to establish relations with Lira San. He wondered idly how successful they’d been. Chances were they hadn’t been. In his experience most people seemed to underestimate lasats, just as they underestimated wookiees, considering them nothing more than talking beasts.

Kallus knew better.

He settled into his too-small seat on the old shuttle, squished between two lasat that were even larger than Zeb and even more uncomfortable than Kallus. They ignored him for the most part, which suited his purposes just fine. The shuttle lifted off on repulsors and Kallus’s stomach twisted.

He was really doing it. _Had_ done it. He’d left Zeb.

Part of him wanted to demand the shuttle return to ground so he could go home and crawl back into bed with his lover.

The other part, the guilty part that gnawed at his stomach, reminded him why he couldn’t do that. He hadn’t earned it. He still owed the universe something – up to and including his life.

Kallus was prepared for that. It wasn’t his ideal goal, but it was acceptable.

The shuttle jumped to hyperspace, the walls buzzing faintly with the speed, and Kallus retreated to the refresher. Careful not to nick himself, he shaved his face completely for the first time in years. Zeb liked his facial hair, but it was too memorable. It had to go. When he took his seat again, the lasats sitting next to him didn’t seem to notice.

Good.

Black Spire on Batuu was practically made for people who wanted to disappear. No one made eye contact, the main cantina was dark and uninviting, and you could find dealers for anything. It cost almost all of his credits, but it didn’t take long for Kallus to find the items he was looking for. He couldn’t disguise his height or build, but he could change nearly everything else in five steps.

First, he procured a full set of New Republic identity documents. His new file declared him to be Van Rourrk of Ralltiir. Ralltiir was dangerously close to his actual homeworld of Coruscant, but he’d only have to alter his accent a little this way. Dying his hair a drab brown and changing into clothes more fitting a Core inhabitant completed his transformation into Rourrk.

Second, Zeb would expect him to hide in the Outer Rim, where most people went to vanish, so Kallus booked passage in the opposite direction: Coreward.

Third, he destroyed every last thing he’d worn leaving Lira San, including his real ID. Short of Zeb having trackers sewn into all his clothes, there was nothing tying him back to that planet. He’d left all sentimental items at home, despite wishing he could have brought them, but he was taking no chances.

Fourth, Kallus found a public Holonet portal and discovered that though the ISB had been officially dismantled, most of their secret accounts had not. He unashamedly forced his way into one, withdrawing enough credits to last him a couple of weeks.

And fifth, he made his way into the Core in a roundabout fashion, finally landing on Kuat. Once there, it was easy enough to get a job working the A-wing assembly line for Kuat Systems Engineering. It was a rough job that required hard people, open only because the workers' pay was less than the cost of manufacturing droids.

Kuat was not his final hiding spot, just a step along the way. Making A-wings helped the New Republic, of course, but not enough. He couldn’t clear his debt to the galaxy this way. However, he didn’t dare go to a planet on a more major hyperspace route without fear of being recognized just yet. He’d have to wait until Van Rourrk had an actual established past, not just a data trail.

And so Kallus worked, his hands rough and stained now, perpetually tired in a way he never had been before. Even the stress of being Fulcrum hadn’t made him this exhausted – and _that_ was saying something.

_“There are whispers of this alleged Jedi in the streets,” Tarkin is saying, pacing slowly in front of Aresko and Grint. The two men look properly intimidated by the Grand Moff’s presence. “In time, such whispers might spark belief in something other than the strength and security of the Empire. And that, gentlemen, is something I cannot have.”_

_Behind Aresko and Grint stands the Grand Inquisitor. He lights both ends of his saber and it is then that Kallus realizes what is about to happen here. He manages to not react too much, not give the Inquisitor or Tarkin cause to punish_ him _._

_But as the men’s heads fall to the floor and their bodies slump forward, Kallus knows he has crossed yet another line. He is complicit in these men’s deaths because he said nothing, did nothing._

_Deep inside, Kallus is grateful the ISB does not discipline its agents the same way Moffs do._

Kallus jerked awake, breathing heavily. It’d been six standard months, but still he reached out for Zeb, seeking the comfort of his lover’s warm body.

He wasn’t there, of course. Kallus was alone in his worker’s quarters on Kuat. He was lucky enough to have received a promotion, so he had his own bedroom, sharing only the common areas with three other supervisors.

This had proved helpful on those nights when Kallus had a nightmare, or woke aching from the loneliness he felt without Zeb by his side. Each time he found himself crying – more often than he would like to admit – he washed his face and tried to pretend it never happened. Each night the tears returned, though he wished he could will them away for good.

As Kallus dressed for the day, he toyed yet again with the idea of contacting his siblings on Coruscant. He’d admitted to the Rebels that he had a brother and a sister, but only his Intelligence superiors knew their names. If his family would talk to him at all, there was no chance of them telling anyone else where – or who – he was. They’d always been fiercely loyal to the family name first and the Empire second, but Kallus didn't know for certain if he'd been disowned after his defection. Part of him wanted to find out, to hopefully feel like he belonged somewhere again.

Unfortunately, at the moment, Coruscant was still in the mopping up period of the civil war that broke out after the Emperor’s death. The former ISB – under a new name, of course – was still active on the planet, making it a very dangerous place for an ex-agent to go.

In fact, it would be safer for him to travel to Chandrila, the current seat of the New Republic government. Sure, there were plenty of Rebel veterans in Intelligence that could recognize him, but they were mostly scattered throughout the galaxy, working. 

The Empire as a government had dissolved, and the New Republic had decommissioned most of their military, but there were still some Moffs holding out individually, acting more as warlords than government officials. In all fairness, Moffs had never been much better than warlords, so the difference was minimal, if at all existent. If one of the planetary militaries would take Kallus in, he could be a ground trooper and use the deadly arsenal of skills at his disposal to do something good in a way that truly mattered.

Kallus looked at himself in the mirror – unkempt and a little less toned than he used to be, with bags under his eyes. Did he really want to go back to war?

Yes. He did. It was a horrible crucible, but one that might continue to burn away his past. One that might make him sacrifice enough to…

Well, to go home.

Assuming he had one anymore.

When Kallus left Kuat, it was to the sound of his superiors begging him to stay. As a factory supervisor, he’d been cool and exacting, more feared than inspiring, just what they wanted out of him.

That was what made him finally leave. He was not becoming a better person there and he had precious little desire to waste energy on anything that didn’t forward his goal.

Kallus turned in his notice and traveled next to Hosnian Prime, another Core world and bastion of the New Republic. 

He had to move carefully in that system. Prime was a large planet, but even large planets could be small communities. Wedge Antilles had a flight academy on Prime, so Kallus had to avoid all pilots just in case. He wasn’t sure the young man he helped escape from Skystrike would recognize him now, tattered and rough with no beard and dark hair, but he wasn’t going to take the chance.

Or thought he wasn’t. Once, in Republic City, he found himself passing Wedge on the street. Wedge looked at him, but there was no recognition in his eyes. Either he was very self-controlled or he truly didn’t know it was Kallus.

Kallus hoped it was the latter.

There on Hosnian Prime, he cooked in a diner. In his spare time, he did research: What the political situation was. Which planets were trying to clear out the last Imperials and was their population such that Kallus wouldn’t stand out. How to enlist without getting grabbed by Intelligence yet again.

The hostel he stayed in began to hint that he should move on, the desk clerk making sarcastic comments about him having moved in, and Kallus was inclined to agree. One month was long enough to risk staying on this busy world with a number of Rebellion pilots nearby.

Corulag was next, a planet on the Perlemian Trade Route, with its planetary military engaged in protecting the far reaches of that route. They were desperate, so they commissioned him immediately as Lieutenant Van Rourrk.

A bit of a step-down from his Rebellion days, but he wasn’t about to pull up his military records and show anyone.

Kallus sat through the officer’s training school for a month, excelling because he already had all the necessary skills. He tried to perform only adequately so that he didn’t stand out, however. No sense becoming known well enough to his superiors that they might dig deeper into his past. Or worse yet, do his job so well as to be noted by the Corulag press. Having a holo of him passed around would be a bad idea.

Once his training month was up, Lieutenant Rourrk was given a small company of soldiers and sent off to Centares, when former High Admiral Teradoc was establishing control of the sector. Their landing craft followed the snubfighters in, dumping the foot soldiers just outside of Muracie.

Kallus had grown up thinking of Centares as a vacation planet, full of eye-catching vistas and plenty of leisure activities – the type of place he might have wanted to take Zeb, once. During the hyperspace journey there, he even indulged in a little fantasy of Zeb joining him at a beach, but he consciously packed that down as they drew closer. It hurt to tear himself away, but he was good at compartmentalizing. He'd always had to be.

Upon arrival, however, he saw Centares was yet another planet ravaged by the Empire. The lush prairies had been strip-mined like Lothal and smoke-belching factories dotted the surface. He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to vacation here anymore.

Not that Kallus really had time to consider vacation plans. Stormtroopers were waiting for them as soon as the transport doors dropped. They were being fired on before they could even lift their weapons.

About a quarter of Kallus’s people never made it off the transport. He couldn’t stop to think about that, however – he had a lot of soldiers left to protect. The adrenaline rush, the one he once got when he was on the front lines of the Galactic Civil War, no matter what side he was on, made his blood pound loudly in his ears. He barked orders and charged the stormtroopers, probably asking to be killed, only caring enough to be glad they weren’t death troopers. Kallus was determined to take as many of them out with him as possible and the death troopers would have shot him too quickly. He stood a better chance of clearing the field for his soldiers against the regular troopers.

A blaster shot hit his helmet, knocking him to the ground. The Corulagian helmet didn’t ring like his Imperial one had, nor did it absorb as much energy as the Rebellion’s helmets. He lay on his back in the mud, willing himself to get back up – there were more karking stormtroopers out there – when he saw a dirty white-clad trooper stand over him.

The trooper took aim at his face and Kallus closed his eyes.

It wasn’t for fear of death. He was trying, in his last moments, to recall the firmness of Zeb’s muscles, the sound of his laugh, the smell of him. If he was going out, he was going out with Zeb’s beautiful name on his lips.

“I’m so sorry, Garazeb Orrelios,” he whispered, waiting for the shot.

It came from behind instead of above. One of his sergeants picked off the stormtrooper, leaving a stunned Kallus to recover from the deep, gut-wrenching sorrow he felt.

“Need a hand, sir?” The sergeant kicked the stormtrooper out of the way and held out a hand to help Kallus up.

He took the offered hand and pulled himself out of the muck, literally and figuratively. He pushed Zeb from his mind – though it hurt to do so – and focused on the job at hand. His boys were counting on him to bring them home safely.

Kallus didn’t want anyone else to feel loss like he had.

Four months of fighting passed, pressing Teradoc back into the edges of Wild Space until he finally capitulated and offered a formal surrender.

Kallus had lost the fire to pursue his goal of improving himself. Still, he was promoted and given a period of leave before they left to fight the next Imperial holdout. He sat in a booth in a Corulag bar, watching the swoop race broadcasts out of the corner of his eye. In front of him sat four empty glasses of whatever the bright green house specialty was. He didn’t ask; he just drank and tried not to think of Zeb’s eyes.

He was flushed from the alcohol, feeling warm and way beyond the point of tipsy. Kallus never should have let himself get that way, however, because with the alcohol, his tongue loosened.

Some other Corulag officers came over and dragged him into a game of sabacc that eventually devolved into an interrogation. The officers – his equals – protested that Captain Rourrk never let his guard down and never talked about himself.

“What’s there to say?” he asked, slurring a little. “Screwed my life up. Now I’m here. Isn’t that true for all of us?”

One captain leaned forward. “Okay, but _how?_ Talom there joined up when his company folded after the Empire lost, Kilvaari spent some time in Imp jail, and Pryde’s wife left him.”’

Kallus took another long pull of his drink, draining the glass dry. Zeb’s image floated before him, looking angry, as if he wanted to pull Kallus’s arms out and beat him with them.

_Fair enough._

“’s me,” he said, before his brain caught up to his mouth. “I did the leaving. Wasn’t good enough for him.”

Kilvaari shook his head. “Man, he must be really something then. You’ve personally saved all of us at least once. What did _he_ do?”

“He saved _me_ and I wasn’t worth it,” Kallus said quietly, feeling that familiar stomach lurch. He held his drink, though, and tried not to think about Zeb anymore.

It didn’t work. The others didn’t _let_ it work. They pressed and Kallus was drunk enough to answer.

He wouldn’t realize it the next day, but he talked about how _he –_ he managed to keep Zeb’s name secret – was the catalyst that made him betray the Empire, made him join the Rebellion’s fight. He’d never told them before that he’d been a Rebel, so that opened up more questions.

Finally, Pryde seemed to think it was time to leave Kallus alone, because he took over the conversation. He told of his smuggling days and how he hit some hard times after the war, when smugglers weren’t in as high demand, and that’s when his wife took the kids and left. Pryde had relatives on Corulag who got him an officer’s commission, but he’d given up hope of reconciling things. They’d grown apart too much. He’d let her down too much.

Kallus listened, drank the fresh glass the droid waiter served him, and fought off memories of letting Zeb down; all for good reasons, but all reasons Zeb should never have taken him in in the first place.

_He’s in the generator core of the Imperial Center on Lothal. They’re so close to achieving their goals, but Rukh is messing them up. Kallus cries Zeb’s name as the lasat leaps into the actual generator coils to battle the alien. Kallus knows that if the call comes anytime soon, he will have to turn on the generators with Zeb down there. He’ll carry Zeb’s death on him the rest of his life, but he will do it for the sake of Lothal and the rest of his new compatriots._

_He’s at Yavin, watching the Death Star slowly round the planet. Their fates are in the hands of pilots – children, really – who are dying like gnats. Kallus knows the Empire, knows they won’t make it out of this one. His only comfort is that Zeb is not here. He’s on the_ Ghost _with Hera, sitting at the far edge of the system in case they need to run. The base has evacuated as many people as possible into its transports and cruisers, but there just aren’t enough. Kallus volunteered to stay behind despite Zeb’s plea to join him on the_ Ghost. _They haven’t yet figured out what their enthusiastic kiss on Lothal means, but they’re getting close. Kallus doesn’t want to lose that, but there are other people who deserve saving much more than him._

 _Now he’s at Hoth, trying to get rid of that bone-numbing chill that worms its way through even the thickest of clothing. It’s worse than Bahryn only because they can’t leave. The only people even remotely standing it are Wookiees like Chewbacca and, of course, Zeb. Fur seems to be a great asset. Suddenly, evacuation code K-1-0 is announced. The Empire is at their gates. Kallus and Zeb disentangle themselves and with a last look, split up. Kallus runs to the Intelligence offices only to be herded on a transport, not knowing if Zeb or the_ Ghost _made it. Without doing anything that might help them escape. He hates himself for it._

Kallus blinked and realized the other captains were staring at him. He must have zoned out on them. “I’m sorry?” he asked.

Talom and Kilvaari, both young men still, laughed at Kallus’s distraction. Pryde, on the other hand, gave him a knowing look.

It was Pryde that he walked home with in the rain after leaving the younger ones to their all-night binges. It was Pryde that slammed him up against an alley wall and kissed him hungrily.

Kallus returned the kiss, the only affection he’d had in a year, but it was weak and sloppy and _nothing_ like kissing Zeb. They weren’t lovers; they were simply two desperate and lonely men who happened to confess this to each other over drinks.

It would mean nothing if he went back to Pryde’s bunk.

It would mean _everything_ if he went back to Pryde’s bunk.

Kallus pulled himself away. “Pryde–”

“Use my name, _Van.”_

“Garyth, no. I can’t do this.” Pryde tried to kiss him again. Kallus shoved him away. “ _No_ ,” he insisted firmly.

Pryde stopped. “I don’t see the problem. _You_ left _him_ , right? You’re free and clear to do whatever you want.”

 _I’ll never be free and clear of Zeb and I never want to be._ “That doesn’t mean I want… whatever this is.”

“You still love him.” Anger flashed in Pryde’s eyes and Kallus knew he’d wounded the man's ego deeply. He stood his ground, however.

“Yes. And I always will.”

Pryde left him alone in the alley, dark and dank and smelly. Kallus looked around, rivulets of water streaming down his face and neck from his hair, cut short and militaristic once more. Once he was certain he was alone, he slid to the ground, leaning against the duracrete wall for support.

“Oh, Zeb,” he said. “I wish I’d never left. I still don’t deserve you but I at least knew I had your love.”

He wiped his face on his damp sleeve, tears mingling with raindrops. If only Zeb were here to hear him. He’d beg on his knees to be taken back and Zeb would rightly refuse. 

But Kallus couldn’t go home on his own, not yet. He might be miserable and desperate, but he still had his mission. If it was interrupted by someone else, that was one thing, but he couldn’t quit.

Besides, there was no way his story ended happily.


	3. Zeb

In the space of an hour, Zeb’s world shattered like a mirror.

Alex was gone. He’d actually left. His reasons were kriffing stupid, but apparently Alex hadn’t thought so because he’d gone ahead and upended their lives.

Zeb left the spaceport in shock. Alex had been on that morning’s shuttle. There were witnesses who recognized him and who saw him getting on the ship. Zeb bought a ticket for the next shuttle, but it didn’t leave for two days. There was no way Alex would still be on Batuu in two days. He’d been trained in undercover operations. He knew how to hide from Zeb.

This was real. This was happening.

He drove home in a carefully-manufactured silence; he didn’t want anyone to see him break down and if he opened his mouth, he would. He knew he would and he wouldn’t be able to stop even if he tried.

Garazeb Orrelios didn’t cry. He just _didn’t_. He hadn’t after Kanan, he hadn’t after Ezra. (The fall of Lasan didn’t count.) But he stood on the bungalow’s porch for nearly an hour, knowing their home would smell of _him_ and that it would be too much. The wound was too raw and fresh to aggravate just yet.

It felt like it would always be that way.

Eventually, he did what he had to: he went inside.

He’d been right. Alex’s scent – usually so comforting – was all over the place and Zeb lost it. He collapsed in the chair in front of their long-range holo equipment and wept openly. He couldn’t breathe. He felt sick. Everything was _wrong._

Controlling his breathing as best he could, Zeb managed to stop crying. He didn’t dare look at the clock; he didn’t want to know how much time he lost to grief.

He activated the holo and dialed in a well-used frequency. Less than a minute later, Hera appeared, a small blue form holding the hand of an even smaller child.

“Zeb!” She sounded genuinely glad to see him.

“I need your help,” Zeb said simply. He knew he didn’t have the right to ask, not when Hera was dealing with a young one, but he had nowhere else to turn. No one else who could help him find his Alex again.

Hera looked wary, probably reacting to the slight waver in Zeb’s voice. “What’s wrong? Are you and Kal okay?”

“No.” It took him a moment to compose himself before he spoke again. “Alex is gone. He left in the night and I don’t know where he is. I need to find him.”

“Are we talking about kidnapping here or…?” Hera spoke gently.

Zeb bent over and picked up the wrinkled letter off the floor. “On his own. Left a note but that’s it.”

Hera nodded matter-of-factly. “So we’ll find him. He has to be on Batuu right now. Do you want me to go straight there or pick you up first?”

Did Zeb want her to start immediately, giving them the greatest shot at catching Alex before he left Batuu or did he want to be part of the search and risk letting him get further away? “The next shuttle’s not for two days. Come to Lira San.”

Zeb told himself it was because he knew Alex best of all, because he would be able to find Alex by scent alone if he was still there, but deep in his heart, Zeb knew it was because he couldn’t stand _not_ actively doing anything.

Hera looked at something off-screen. “I’m on a run to Sullust. I’ll be there as soon as I’ve dropped off my cargo.”

 _And not picked up her next cargo,_ Zeb knew. She was giving up part of her livelihood to come help him.

Alex was going to have some apologizing to do. 

_If_ they ever found him.

Zeb had never liked Batuu. It was dirty and smelly and busy and he’d much rather spend his time elsewhere. He’d much rather Hera and Jacen be elsewhere.

But no, Hera was there with her son on a short leash, asking questions and leading the way.

There’d been hugs and hellos and plan-making when Hera arrived on Lira San, but she very quickly herded Zeb out of his present home and back into his former home. He even had his same bunk.

He didn’t tell her it still smelled of Alex, too.

“We’re putting the word out,” Hera said, standing in the doorway. “All the old gang.”

“So… Sabine and Rex?”

“And Wedge and Hobbie and Mart and Vizago and Hondo and Mon Mothma and the entire Senate, if we have to.” She smiled as she ticked off each name on her fingers. “I bet Han Solo knows some hideouts and he owes me one after I gave him those parts for the _Falcon_ ’s hyperdrive.”

They sat in Oga’s Cantina, trying to plan their next move. Zeb and Hera had already been up and down the main road looking for some sign of Alex, but to no avail.

Zeb stared at his drink without actually taking a sip. The energy that simple action took eluded him. 

Hera looked him up and down, a frown forming. Zeb knew he was moping, but that was a reasonable response to losing his mate, he thought. 

“Let’s get back to the _Ghost_ and make some calls,” she suggested. “Then we’ll come back and bully answers out of people.”

 _Bully._ Zeb liked the sound of that.

Hera was true to her word: they called up Sabine and Rex, caught Wedge and Hobbie at the former’s flight school, found Mart still piloting for the New Republic, discovered Vizago and Hondo each in undisclosed locations, and – to Zeb’s surprise – talked to Mon Mothma herself, who tried to caution them.

“I cannot make this a galactic priority with the Senate, you know,” Mon Mothma said. “If Captain Kallus does not want to be found, there are any number of places he might be. You may find yourself searching a long time.”

 _Yeah. I know that. Thanks._ All inappropriate responses, but Zeb had never cared about propriety with senators before and he wasn’t about to start now, when there were more important things to worry about.

“Thank you, Senator.” Hera was more polite than Zeb would have managed. After she hung up, she caught Zeb’s eye. “Ready to go intimidate the good people of Batuu?”

Zeb nodded, putting one fist in the other hand almost unconsciously. “Ready.”

As they walked down the streets, Zeb stared at everyone, scrutinizing each one. Had they helped Alex run away? Most people wouldn’t meet his eyes, but there was anger in the ones who did.

Hera turned down Smuggler’s Alley, possibly the seediest place in town. Zeb picked up Jacen and held him tightly, unwilling to let him run loose, even with a leash and harness. 

After a string of fruitless questions and some intimidation performed by a more than willing Zeb, they finally found the man they were looking for: a duros who dealt in forged and sliced documents.

Zeb made himself as towering and imposing as possible – well, as possible as it was with a child in his arms – even going so far as to growl. 

The duros was not impressed. If he gave out client information once, he explained, he’d lose his reputation and his livelihood, even if it was to a growling, hulking lasat.

“You know how they say wookiees rip people’s arms off?” Zeb threatened. “Well, I can do all four limbs at the same time. How’d you like that?”

The duros leaned back in his chair and blinked, large red eyes emotionless. “Sorry. I can’t tell you if I’ve seen him or not.”

They left disappointed, but Hera stopped them a few stalls down. “Jacen, love, can you tell Mommy if that man was lying?”

Zeb was a little dumbfounded. Hera usually discouraged Jacen from using the Force powers he’d inherited from Kanan. “Are you sure?” he asked her.

Hera nodded. “This is for you and Kal.” She repeated her question to Jacen.

Jacen nodded, fingers in his mouth. He removed them only long enough to say, “Yes, Mommy.”

Hera nodded. “Then he saw Kallus. At least we know he’s been through here.”

“Yeah,” Zeb agreed glumly. “But he changed his name! How’re we gonna track him now?”

“You’d be surprised what a good slicer can do,” Hera said. “They can match known slicing styles against official files and see just who was supplied by that same man. We’ll just have to find an unscrupulous one for hire.”

Vizago hooked them up with a slicer named Ghent, who occasionally sent them a name of someone who’d bought identities from that duros. But they were all false leads, chased down between jobs, only to be disappointed.

For six months, there was no trace of Alex. Six months of Zeb following Hera around in the _Ghost_ once more, crewing as if he’d never left.

It was a comfortable routine to get back to and this time, they didn’t have to dodge government ships to deliver their cargo.

Zeb kind of missed that part of it, to tell the truth.

But at each port they went to, they checked for signs of Alex, showed his picture on a datapad to officials, Hera pulling rank as a former general to strongarm security holos from them.

No Alex.

Zeb had quit crying every time he got the tiniest whiff of Alex’s scent. Working for Hera and caring for Jacen kept him occupied during the day.

At nights, though… at nights, Zeb physically ached to have Alex back in his arms. He slept on the outside of the bed, still leaving room for his lover by the wall. On the worst nights, even though he knew just how thin the ship’s walls were, he would get himself off thinking of what he wanted to do with Alex when they found him.

 _If_ they found him. The thought of never finding him was painful and loud enough to drown out any fantasies of success he had.

Zeb had forgotten what loneliness felt like. He’d had the Lira San lasats and he’d had Alex. He’d had _everything_ that was possible in this galaxy to make him happy. And he had been.

He wished he’d seen it coming. He’d known that Alex was touchy, that something was making him sad. Zeb had kept his distance, though, trusting Alex to come to him if he needed help. That, apparently, had been a mistake.

What had he done wrong, that Alex couldn’t trust him? Had he pushed him too hard? Had he pushed him too little?

Well, there was no telling since he’d left. Something had gone wrong and Zeb hadn’t caught it in time and that was all that mattered.

One evening, after Jacen had been put to bed, Zeb was playing Dejarik against Chopper when Hera slid into the seat by the droid and turned off the board game.

Chopper protested loudly, top spinning. Zeb just looked at Hera, wondering what she wanted.

“I know I’m not Kanan,” she said. “And you haven’t ever really confided in me the way you used to do with him and– and Kal. But, Zeb, if you keep holding this in, it’s going to kill you.”

Zeb tried to shake her off. “’M fine,” he insisted.

“No, you’re not.” She spoke surely, emphasizing each word. “You’re a wreck. You’re hurting. You’re angry. And you have a right to be. But you don’t have to do this alone. We’re _family.”_

Zeb held her gaze for a long time, debating what to say, if anything. What would he say if it were Kanan here? “I don’t know what I’m thinking,” he admitted. “Not anymore. It’s easier not to think about it.”

“Like you did with you being Captain of the Lasan Honor Guard, not telling anyone?” Hera managed to keep from sounding accusatory.

She had him there. “I’m lonely,” he said. “I had everything I wanted and then Alex ripped it away. I’m angry at him. I’m confused. I’m sad. I don’t know how to feel all this at once.”

“Well, take it one at a time. Why angry?”

Zeb thought. “I’m angry because he didn’t trust me enough to tell me something was wrong. It makes me wonder if I ever actually saw the real him. If I never saw _Alex,_ only _Kallus._ Like I was just another undercover op to him.” 

His own words resonated within him – he’d never voiced them like that, not even to himself. He realized he _did_ feel as if he didn’t know Alex any more. Maybe… maybe it would be easier to not think of him as Alex. Maybe he was Kal once again, the man that the rest of the crew had known, the one Zeb had to draw out to befriend. Finding him was a lot like doing that again, right?

Hera nodded, oblivious to Zeb’s silent decision. “Kal was hard to read a lot of the time, but he never looked at you with anything but utter adoration, especially these last couple of years. I don’t think you have to doubt that he loves you. That’s what he said in his note, right? That he left because he loved you too much? He thought he was doing right by you.”

“Well, he didn’t,” Zeb snarled, suddenly furious. “He took everything I’d built my life on and destroyed it.”

Silence fell while Zeb seethed. Even Chopper was quiet after the outburst.

“Zeb…” Hera spoke slowly. “Do you even really want to find him? Are you using the _Ghost_ and the search as an excuse to avoid being alone?”

Zeb didn’t know what to say. How dare she ask that question? Of _course_ he wanted to find Kal. He wouldn’t be out here if he didn’t want to find Kal. He stood quickly, nearly ripping the Dejarik table out of the floor as he did so. He wished the game pieces were physical so he could throw something. “Excuse me,” he said tightly, and retreated to his room.

As he left, Chopper blatted something and Hera fussed at him for language. 

Maybe it was good he didn’t understand Chopper most of the time or he would’ve had to rip the droid apart for real this time.

Zeb paced his room, raging inside. He was angry at Kal, yes, but surely that didn’t translate to not wanting to find him. He was sure of that. Wasn’t he?

Finally, afraid he’d wake Jacen up with his stomping, he sat on the bed, head in his hands.

Hera was right, he had to admit. There was some part of him that never wanted to see Kal again because it would just rip open all the wounds he’d taped closed. He’d have to confront Kal, be angry at Kal, show him just how much he was hurt. Zeb was vulnerable at the moment, he knew. He wasn’t sure he could handle such a thing, especially if Kal rejected him again.

But at the same time, he couldn’t imagine the rest of his life _without_ Kal. He didn’t _want_ to imagine it. He wanted to hold Kal again, feel him in his arms, sleep with him in their bed in their home. He wanted to see Kal laugh at him again whenever he tried to cook. He wanted to spar with him in the forest as a prelude to passionate sex. He wanted to come back home from the market to find Kal waiting for him. Every fur on his body ached to have Kal back in his life.

Zeb slunk back out in the hall. Hera’s door was open. He knocked softly on the wall anyway.

She looked up from where she was folding Jacen’s clothing. “Do you feel any better?” she asked.

Zeb nodded. “I’m sorry for reacting like that,” he said. It wasn’t easy for him to apologize to anyone, but Hera deserved to get at least one heartfelt apology. She’d only been trying to help and she’d done so much already.

“Did you figure out your answer?”

“I want to find Kal.”

She gave him a quizzical look. “He’s ‘Kal’ to you now, too?”

“For now,” Zeb said.

Hera nodded once. “As long as you’re sure, we’ll keep looking. Go get some sleep; we’ve got a job to do tomorrow.”

Zeb did as he was told, falling asleep to new dreams of Kal: not memories of him, but thoughts of a future with him in it.

“Spectre-4, get back to the ship as soon as you can.” Through the comm, Hera’s voice sounded impatient.

Zeb grumbled under his breath. First Hera sent him to pick up supplies and suddenly he needed to be back at the ship. Couldn’t she make up her mind?

He paid the vendor for the dried nerf jerky that served as the basis for most of his diet on board the ship and pushed a box full of other supplies in front of him as he returned to the _Ghost_.

When he arrived, he found Hera talking on the holo with Wedge Antilles. She motioned for him to join her.

“Wedge, tell Zeb what you told me,” she instructed.

Wedge looked wide-eyed and a little breathless. “I saw him. I didn’t think he’d ever come here, the planet’s so busy and he knows we’re here, but since Hera told me to keep an eye out, I did and–”

“Just tell them the important bits. You’re rambling.” A blond man pushed Wedge out of the holo pickup. Hobbie. “Zeb, we saw him here on Hosnian Prime. He was coming out of a large library in the city. I don’t know if he saw us. He’s shaved his beard and dyed his hair, but it was definitely him.”

Zeb looked at Hera, shocked. This was the first real lead they’d had.

“We’re headed that way as soon as I can get the _Ghost_ in the air,” Hera said. “Is it okay if we land at your academy so he doesn’t see us at the spaceport?”

Wedge elbowed his way back into the holo. “Of course. We’ll see you soon.”

They made it to the Hosnian system in record time and Zeb bounded down the ramp before it was fully open. Hera followed at a much more reasonable speed, holding on to Jacen’s hand.

Wedge and Hobbie were waiting for them. After a brief – but excruciatingly long to Zeb – exchange of pleasantries, they figured out the logistics of hiding the _Ghost_ and Hera herself from the academy students; they were among the most recognizable ships and pilots in the galaxy after the war and were bound to be mobbed. Once everything was sorted, Hobbie drove them into town while Jacen stayed with Wedge and some of the other academy instructors.

Zeb tried to look at every face of every human. He knew Kal’s height would make him stand out, but he checked everyone anyway, just in case.

 _In case what? He shrunk?_ the mocking voice in his mind asked.

Hobbie stopped the speeder in front of an ornate-looking building, parking it on the side of the street. “This is the library he was coming out of.”

“Thank you, Hobbie,” said Hera, elbowing Zeb so he’d thank Hobbie too.

Zeb was too focused for that. “Karabast,” he said, low and quiet. Kal might be in that building right then. This might be the moment Zeb found him. He marched straight inside, on a mission.

The library was quiet, with people milling around. Datatape boxes lined shelves, while reading and holonet stations lined the walls. It seemed like a nice place.

A nice place with no Kal. 

Zeb wanted to growl in frustration, but he stopped himself. No sense getting kicked out just yet. He wanted information first.

Hera was already talking to the librarian at the front desk. Zeb saw her show the picture of Kal they all kept on their datapads to help identify him. The librarian shook her head.

Zeb moved closer so he could hear.

“–betray client confidences,” the librarian was saying.

“How ‘bout you tell us what you know about this man or I’ll start ripping heads off,” Zeb threatened. Hera shot him a look and he amended, “Ripping up datatapes. That’s what I’ll do if you don’t talk. Rip up datatapes.”

The librarian looked terrified. “His name is Rourrk. He used to come in every day, but yesterday he said it would be his last. I don’t know anything else about him.”

“What was he doing here?” Hera asked, much more calmly than Zeb.

“I don’t know. He used the holonet portals. We don’t keep history records on those like we do the datatapes.”

“Did you ever get his information? Where he’s staying?” Hera asked.

The librarian shook her head. “He never checked anything out so he didn’t need to give us anything. I only know his name because he introduced himself that way.”

Zeb looked at Hera. Hera looked at Zeb. Both shrugged slightly. A name was much more information than they’d had before. There was no telling if ‘Rourrk’ was a last name or a first name, but it was a start.

Back at the Academy, it turned out one of Wedge’s students was a pretty decent slicer. The bothan, nicknamed Grinder, looked at all the hotel registries in the city, but no one named Rourrk was in town.

Grinder tried to find IDs emulating the style of the duros from Batuu, but had no luck. “He might have gotten another slicer to go over it again, or he might have gotten a new identity from someone else, but I don’t see a Rourrk matching this profile.”

Zeb slumped on a couch in defeat. So close. They’d been so close and Kal slipped through his fingers again.

“Hey,” said Hera, rubbing his back. “We’ve got a name now. That narrows it down considerably. You know how many people in the galaxy are named Rourrk?”

“Too many,” Zeb grumbled.

“No, not too many. A more reasonable number for us to sift through. We can do this, okay?” She held out her hand. “Come on, big guy. Let’s eat and then we’ll get started on all this again.”

Despite having a name and a planet as a place to start searching. Zeb and Hera had no luck. No more leads, no Rourrks matching Kal’s description. Two months later – nine months after Kal left – Zeb lost faith.

He no longer believed they’d find Kal. Kal was just too good at covering his tracks and Zeb wasn’t skilled enough to follow. Kal obviously didn’t want to be found. Didn’t want _him._

So, finally, he did the unthinkable: he gave up. He asked Hera to take him home.

It was obvious Hera didn’t approve, but she dutifully took him back to Lira San.

He stood, alone, in front of the bungalow. It looked nearly as ramshackle as it had when he and Kal moved in: plants were overgrown and in need of care, the porch needed a good sweeping, and inside, there was a thick layer of dust on everything.

It looked the way Zeb felt on the inside: empty and uncared for.

 _That’s not fair. Hera took care of you,_ he chastised himself. _She helped, but she’s not Kal._

With a sigh, Zeb started in on the cleaning and pruning that needed to be done. It kept his mind off the fact that he’d be alone in bed that night.

For three months, Zeb kept his head down. He was a completely different lasat than had lived in the bungalow before. He was quiet. He rarely visited anyone. He never smiled.

 _This is my life now_ , he realized. From there on out, he would be alone. He _wanted_ to be alone if he couldn’t have Kal.

The holo chirped to life late one morning when Zeb was still moping in bed. Reluctantly, he pulled on clothes and answered the call.

Hera. _Is it time for her weekly check-in already?_

She didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Zeb? I have a lead. A credible one. As in I know where he’ll be for the next couple of days. I’m already on my way to come get you.”

Zeb couldn’t quite process what he was hearing. Hera had… found Kal? “You’re sure?”

“The information comes from Hondo. One of his old smuggling buddies heard about the missing Rebel captain and put two and two together, realizing he knows the guy. Both Hondo and the smuggler will expect finder’s fees, but I’m sure we can scrape something up if it really is him.”

“You’re sure?” Zeb repeated, dumbfounded. That uncomfortable feeling was starting in his stomach again, radiating out. Wounds he thought he’d bandaged were re-opening at just the thought of actually finding Kal.

“I’m through the maelstrom,” Hera said. “I’ll be at your spaceport in twenty.”

She ended the transmission and Zeb sat there for a minute, still dumbfounded. He shook his head quickly, trying to come back to the present, and started packing the essentials for a quick trip.

Hera was waiting for him outside the _Ghost_ when he showed up. “Where is he?” he asked immediately.

“For now, Corulag. Curamelle, to be exact.”

Zeb nodded. He wasn’t familiar with that world, but he could study up while in hyperspace.

It was only once they were well underway that Zeb realized Jacen wasn’t underfoot.

“Oh, he’s with my father,” Hera explained when he asked after him. “Knowing him, he’s teaching Jacen something dangerous.”

Zeb nodded. No kids along for the ride. That might be a good thing.

Curamelle was the rainiest city Zeb had ever been to. He wasn’t sure if all Corulag was like this, but it didn’t make him want to visit the planet again. The rain soaked his fur, making him look even more pathetic than he already did, pining after Kal.

A tall man – though not as tall as Kal – met them at the spaceport.

“Captain Pryde,” he introduced himself. He looked at Zeb with some distaste. “And you must be the ex.”

Zeb bristled. _Ex._ He didn’t like the sound of that. He hadn’t thought about _Kal_ moving on and hooking up with someone new. Was he seeing this Pryde man? Was that the reason for the disdain? “You’re the one who found him?” he asked, pushing down his emotions in favor of the mission.

Pryde nodded. “I knew him as soon as I saw the picture. He dyed his hair, but the roots show. We’ve been part of the military here, fighting the warlords. Just finished routing Teradoc and we’re on leave as a reward.”

Kal went back to fighting? Zeb had thought Kal was glad to be out of the fighting.

Yet another way he found out he didn’t really know Kal.

“Where is he?” Hera asked, putting one hand on Zeb’s arm, helping him focus on the present. “Can you take us there?”

Pryde glanced at his chrono and shrugged. “If he’s keeping his usual schedule, he’ll be at the Broken Drum until it closes.”

“Take me there,” growled Zeb. He was sure he was ready to do what he had to.

He really wasn’t sure he was ready to do what he had to.

He had to do it anyway.

Pryde hailed a speeder cab and directed the driver to a seedy-looking part of town. The heavy rain made it seem uninviting and ominous.

 _I can’t imagine Kal being here,_ Zeb thought.

The cab stopped in front of a cantina. A sign with a drum split in twain told Zeb they were at the right place.

He stopped in front of the doors after squeezing out of the speeder cab, scared to go inside.

What would he see? What would he say to Kal? What would he do to Pryde if Kal wasn’t in there? 

What would he do with himself, either way?

Hera nudged him forward. “Go get your man,” she said.

Zeb swallowed and nodded. Purposefully, he swung the door open wide and stepped in. It was dark inside and it took his eyes a few seconds to adjust. Once he could see properly, he scanned the room.

 _There_. At the bar. 

Zeb was intimately familiar with the man’s back and broad shoulders, though the way he hunched over his drink was new. His hair was shorter and combed back like it had been in his Imperial days. Pryde was right; his blond roots were showing.

 _Kal._ It was Kal.


	4. Resolution

Alexsandr Kallus – no, he was Van Rourrk, he reminded himself – was drunk. With a capital D.

This was nothing special. He’d spent most of his leave this way, being careful to drink alone after the Pryde fiasco. Having nothing to do was a bad idea; if he didn’t drink away his days, he’d spend them in his bunk, morose and lonely, or worse still, with someone who wasn’t Zeb.

At least at the moment, he was morose and lonely while being drunk. That was marginally better.

He was six drinks in and working on a seventh. The world was beginning to spin dizzyingly.

A heavy weight settled on his shoulder. Kallus closed his eyes. It almost felt like Zeb’s hand.

His barstool spun around and he heard a low, gravelly voice say his name. “Kal?”

Kallus’s eyes shot open. The world was still wavering, but he would almost have sworn that Zeb was standing in front of him.

That was impossible, of course, and he said so. He’d told Zeb not to try to follow him.

“’ _Don’t follow me?!’_ Karabast, Kal, you Sith-damned fool, what did you _think_ I was going to do? Sit there and let you ruin everything we fought for?”

Kallus smiled. _Yeah, that sounds like something Zeb would say._ He knew he was hallucinating, but if that is what that seventh drink caused, he needed to imbibe like that much more often. He liked this hallucination.

“Miss you,” he slurred. “Wish you were real.”

The hallucination of Zeb frowned. “You _are_ drunk. We can’t do this now. Come on, I’m taking you back to the _Ghost,_ but buddy, you better believe we’re having a _talk_ tomorrow.”

The next thing Kallus knew, the hallucination slammed some credits on the bar – “For his drinks. Keep the change.” – and swept him up in his arms, bridal style.

The move made Kallus’s head swim and he leaned his head against the hallucination’s strong arms. He could swear he felt Zeb’s fur on his bare cheeks. The hallucination of Zeb hitched him up higher for a better grip.

The motion of being carried was relaxing. Kallus tried to see where his drinks were taking him tonight, but his eyelids were so heavy and it felt like he was being rocked and…

Zeb stewed all night and all morning. He had tried to sleep, he promised when Hera asked, but it just wasn’t possible. Not with Kal wiped out right next door in Kanan’s old room. Not when they’d _finally_ found him.

It had only taken a year; the longest year of Zeb’s life.

And it was over at last.

No, it wasn’t over. They still had to talk.

But what was Zeb going to _say?_ None of his carefully prepared speeches really said what he felt right this moment. Sweeping Kal into his arms and kissing him soundly wasn’t right, either.

But what was it he felt?

He waited at the Dejarik table for Kal to wake up.

Hera joined him briefly. “You know, this will be a lot easier if you guys realize that loving each other is a choice, not a feeling. Even though Kanan and I never said it until the end, we both chose each other, every day. You can do the same.” She tapped the table twice for emphasis, then left with Chopper to give them some privacy.

Zeb filed her words away in the back of his mind, but his heart was pounding and he was a little distracted. Any minute, Kal would wake up.

The bedroom door _whooshed_ open and a very hungover-looking Kal stepped out. Looking down the hall, he spotted Zeb, eyes going wide.

“This is real,” he said.

Zeb stood. “It’s very real.”

Kal nodded, but his expression changed quickly. He covered his mouth and ran to the refresher, where it sounded like he lost most everything he drank the night before.

Zeb waited for Kal to finish, feeling anger rise in his gut again. He thought he’d gotten over that, but apparently he’d just suppressed it. He needed Kal to know how he’d been hurt. He needed Kal to hurt some, too.

Water ran briefly and Kal came stumbling out of the refresher. He stopped in the door to the hallway, still looking at Zeb as if he would disappear any second.

Funny. Zeb felt the same way about him.

“You left me,” Zeb said, trying not to sound too upset.

Kal looked down at the ground, hair falling in his face. “I did. I’m sorry. I wanted a better life for you than you could ever have with me.”

Zeb growled a little bit, startling Kal into looking at his face once more. “You _left_ me,” he repeated. “Do you know what that did to me? What _you_ did to me?”

“I thought…” Kal shook his head. “I’m so very sorry, Zeb. I understand if you can’t, but I have to ask if you could forgive me someday.”

 _Forgive him?_ Zeb’s rage grew at the words. ‘ _I’m sorry’_ just didn’t cut it. It was letting Kal off too easily. His mind filled with nothing but red and briefly, all his Basic escaped him. Hands clenched, heart pounding, stomach churning, and his head… His head was a swirl of thoughts, but there was one sentence demanding to be said. No, yelled.

“ _An na marka!”_ he roared.

Kal took a step back, looking stunned. “I– I did what? I don’t know that word.” He still spoke softly, apologetically.

Zeb swallowed, forcing himself to regain some control. It took a minute, but when he could speak again, he said, “Betray. You betrayed my trust. You betrayed _me.”_

Kal didn’t say anything, just stood there watching Zeb with those amber eyes, beautiful even when they were a little bloodshot.

“Karabast!” Zeb snapped. “Are you just going to stand there? Tell me why you did this to me. Tell me why you never talked to me _before_ it got to this point. Tell me why your guilt is more important than my love for you.”

There. He saw it now: regret in Kal’s eyes. _That’s_ what he really wanted to see.

“I– I can’t,” Kal admitted. “I can’t tell you why I didn’t say anything, at least not in a way you’ll understand.”

“Try, Kal. Please try.”

Kal frowned a little. “I’m ‘Kal’ again? What happened to ‘Alex’?”

“He left me,” Zeb said firmly.

Looking utterly devastated, Kal tried to explain, stopping and starting over multiple times. “I love you,” he said finally. “I love you so much that I couldn’t stand to see you lower yourself to be with someone like me. Someone who supported and participated in so much evil. By all logic, you should never forgive me for being part of what happened to Lasan, yet you did. You offered me love when I didn’t deserve it. And I was tired of taking and not being able to give.”

Zeb shook his head, confused. “’Not being able to give’?” he quoted. “Kal, I love you. I love all of you, not just the parts that worked for the Rebellion. You didn’t have to _give_ me anything except your love and your presence.”

Kal stared at Zeb’s feet again. “You’re right. I should have said something. But I didn’t and this last year has been miserable. I’ve wanted you back but believed you wouldn’t want _me._ ” He looked up, almost hopeful. “You said you still love me. Does that mean you want me back?”

“ _You’ve_ been miserable?” Zeb said, voice growing louder. Kal didn’t react and that only made him madder. “Did you ever stop to think about _me?_ What _I_ wanted? You didn’t. Do you even care about me at all? Was I just a means to some end for you? Amusement during the war?”

That got a reaction. “Zeb, no! I would never use you–”

“But you did. And now we’re here.” Zeb felt tired now, the rage expulsed from his body. All he had left now was exhaustion. “Kal, I– I just don’t know right now. You only thought of yourself and what you thought I deserved. You never asked me what I thought I deserved. I don’t know if I can trust you again.”

“You looked for me all this time just to tell me… you don’t want me around?”

That stirred the little energy left in Zeb. “Karabast! Don’t you listen? I want you around. I want to take you to bed right now and mark you up so much that you never forget who you belong to. I want you so bad I can taste it. But you hurt me, Kal. It’s gonna take me some time to process.” He held up a hand to forestall any comments. “I want you back. I want you to come home with me. But you have to realize things aren’t going to be like they were, not right away.”

“What can I do?” Kal sounded genuine, but Zeb was still skeptical.

He remembered Hera’s suggestion. “I want you to _choose_ to be with me, no matter what your head tells you. I want you to choose your love for me over your guilt.”

“Zeb, I want to choose you, if you’ll have me. I’ve spent the last months wanting so much to come back to you, but my pride wouldn’t let me. My conscience wouldn’t let me. I want to come home. I want you to be happy again. And I want to hear what you think you deserve and I want to give it to you, if I can.”

“I _deserve_ someone who doesn’t hide from me, who tells me when something’s wrong and doesn’t run off when things are hard. Can you do that?”

“I can do my best,” Kal said. “Hiding has been a survival mechanism for me for so long, but I can try to adjust my reactions as best I can.”

Zeb supposed that was the best he was going to get out of Kal. He held a hand out for Kal to take, but instead of a hand, he got the whole Kal, wrapping around him in a hug.

“I’m so sorry, Zeb,” Kal was whispering, over and over. “I do love you. I’m so sorry.”

Zeb slipped his arms around Kal, realizing the man was crying into his fur. He pressed his face into the side of Kal’s head. “You don’t smell right,” he said, trying not to cry himself from the long-awaited affection. He smelled the bar from last night on him, smoke and alcohol and vomit and sleaze. There were hints of blaster oil – not unusual from their Rebellion days, but odd now – and hair dye and the faint smell of mildew rising from the clothes he’d slept in while they were still wet.

“I don’t smell like you.” Kal moved his head only long enough to speak, then buried himself back in Zeb’s fur.

“You need a shower,” Zeb said. “I brought you a couple changes of clothes that you left behind. What do you need to do to leave Corulag?”

“I guess I need to officially resign my commission or go AWOL. Other than that, I only have a bag of clothes. Rather like the war days.”

There was a lot about the war that Zeb was happy to forget, and the lack of personal belongings was one of those things. “Let me help you,” Zeb offered, wanting to get off this planet as quickly as possible.

Kal nodded, then leaned back to look up at him. “Are you saying that because you don’t trust me to come back?”

“A little,” Zeb said truthfully. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“Then come with me.”

“After you shower.”

“After I shower.”

Zeb wasn’t allowed to enter the Corulag military base, no matter how he flashed his fangs at the guards, so Kallus conducted his business as quickly as possible.

He sat on his cot in the officers’ quarters, stuffing clothes into his rucksack, completely oblivious to the moment Pryde walked in.

“I thought you were an ex-Imp,” Pryde said with some revulsion.

Frowning, Kallus looked up at him. “I was, until I was brought to my senses. What do you care?”

“I wouldn’t have guessed you fucked the beast. Thought Imperials at least had standards.”

It took a minute for his words to sink in, but Kallus leapt to his feet as soon as they had. He grabbed Pryde’s shirt and slammed him against the wall. “Don’t you dare call him that,” he hissed. “He’s a better man than you will ever be.”

Pryde acted as if he didn’t hear Kallus. “No wonder you wouldn’t fuck me. You like ‘em big and feral.”

Kallus shook Pryde, pushing him even harder against the wall. “Shut. Your. Mouth,” he threatened. “Or I will show you feral.”

Pryde laughed. The sound distracted Kallus just enough that he didn’t notice the swing Pryde took at him with his left fist. It connected with Kallus’s nose with an audible crunch and blood started leaking out immediately.

Letting go of Pryde, Kallus wiped the blood away and proceeded to pummel the other man’s stomach. He didn’t bother holding back like he usually might have; he still remembered how to spar with a lasat and knew how to apply all the power he could. Pryde’s words had negated any mercy Kallus might have had for the man.

Pryde managed to land some blows to Kallus’s face and sides, but really caught him off guard when he kicked Kallus in the knee and sent him to the floor. Kallus retaliated by sweeping out with his good leg and bringing Pryde down to his level. He pounced, straddling Pryde and holding him to the ground. “Can you keep your mouth shut?” he asked, one fist held back in case the answer was no.

“Okay, okay! I give. I won’t say anything about the lasat.”

Pryde’s shirt had ridden up, revealing red skin – future bruises – where Kallus had laid into him. It looked to Kallus like he’d had enough punishment.

Almost.

He gave him one more good punch, breaking his nose the way Pryde had broken Kallus’s. “Keep it that way,” he declared, getting to his feet. Before Pryde could get up, Kallus had grabbed his bag and was out the door.

Zeb stared at him as he walked out of the military base. Kallus knew he must look a mess, limping and bleeding from his nose. At least this time, he didn’t have black eyes or a split lip.

“Karabast, Kal. What happened?”

“There was a question of honor.” Kallus shook his head, trying to keep his expression neutral despite the immense offense he still felt on Zeb’s behalf.

Zeb looked like he wanted to ask more, but Kallus walked straight past him to the waiting speeder cab.

“Get me off this planet,” he said once Zeb joined him. “Take me to Lira San. Take me home.”

Zeb gently wiped the blood from his face. “Only if you don’t get killed along the way thanks to your crazy Coruscanti notions of honor.”

“I think,” Kallus said, “with you around, I can keep that promise.”

It was almost a repeat of their first night together after Atollon, Kallus noted. As soon as he was brought aboard the _Ghost_ , he was forced to undergo Hera’s questioning stare and Zeb’s medical treatment: bacta patches for his nose and a painful resetting of his kneecap. Zeb grumbled at him the whole time, just as he had back then and every other time Kallus managed to injure himself when he threw caution into the wind.

“Why you can’t stay out of trouble, I don’t know,” he muttered. “Always gotta patch you up.”

Kallus was not going to tell Zeb _why_ he fought. There was no need to hurt him like that. There were other questions that needed answering, though.

“Where am I sleeping tonight?” he asked tentatively, another thing they’d had to hash out back on that first night. “Back in Kanan’s room?” Rex had used the room during most of the war, but it would always and forever be known as Kanan’s.

Zeb paused wrapping up Kallus’s knee. “Where do you want to sleep?” he asked slowly.

 _In your arms,_ Kallus thought. _But it might be too soon._ “I’ll sleep wherever you tell me to, Zeb. You’re the one I hurt. You set the rules.”

Sighing, Zeb set down the bandage roll. “I told you earlier. I’m going to need some time to process things.”

Kallus nodded sadly. It made perfect sense. Of course Zeb wouldn’t want him like that just yet. “I understand.”

And so, come bedtime, Kallus found himself in Kanan’s room, curled up on the lower bunk, trying to fall asleep.

It wasn’t working. His mind was still racing, still comprehending the idea that Zeb was _here_ and was willing to take him back, even if there was some distance between them for the time being.

He tossed and turned, eyes burning from lack of sleep, headache forming. He checked his chrono: nearly an hour after midnight.

Suddenly, the room’s door slid open and Kallus rolled over to see Zeb standing there, silhouetted by the hall light.

“Kal?” he asked quietly.

“Zeb,” Kallus responded, unsure where this was going.

“I was wrong. I want you with me. It’s been long enough.”

 _He wants me!_ Kallus sat up on the bunk, trying to quell his excitement. “Are you sure?” he checked.

“I am.” Zeb held out a hand.

Standing slowly, Kallus took it and let himself be led back to Zeb’s – _their_ – bunk.

Kallus laid down on the bottom bunk, back against the wall, with Zeb lying on his back between him and the door.

Not that Kallus wanted to go anywhere.

They stared at each other in silence, the room lit only by the door control panel – just enough light to make out each other’s faces.

Kallus was glad for the darkness. Zeb wouldn’t be able to tell that he’d teared up. “I missed this,” he admitted. “I missed _you.”_

Instead of taking the obvious chance to remind Kallus it was his own fault – as Kallus felt he deserved – Zeb reached out and pulled Kallus closer to him. “I know,” he said. “I know.”

Slowly, Kallus brought up one hand and ran it through Zeb’s chest fur. It was just as soft as he remembered. Perhaps even more so.

He wanted so badly to lean over and kiss Zeb, to be kissed back, but he didn’t. Just like with the bedroom situation, he planned to let Zeb lead the way back to their old relationship – or as close to it as they could get. Instead, Kallus laid his head on Zeb’s chest and let his arm drape across Zeb’s middle.

He fell asleep to the soothing sound of his once-again partner’s heartbeat.

On Lira San, Hera pulled Zeb aside before he could leave the ship. They’d already said official good-byes, so he didn’t know what she wanted.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “Can I leave you two here and trust that you’ll keep talking?”

Zeb considered his answer. “I really am okay. There are some things I still want answers to, but I believe Kal when he says he wants to try again.”

Hera nodded. “Good. Remember what I told you. Choose–”

“Choose him. I remember.”

“Now make him remember that, too.”

Zeb pulled Hera into a hug. “I will. Thank you for helping me.”

“Family,” was all she said in explanation. “Now go get him and keep him.”

The _Ghost_ lifted off almost before they could leave the spaceport. Zeb pointed out the speeder where he’d parked it a couple days ago and placed Kal’s bag in the backseat for the ride home.

_Home._

With Kal there, it _would_ be a home again, not just a place Zeb lived.

At least, that’s what he hoped would happen.

Kal stopped outside the bungalow, much as Zeb had done when he first returned from the search. It had only been a few days since Zeb left, so the house was still in good order and looked warm and inviting from the outside. Despite that, Kal seemed to have stopped breathing, frozen in place.

“You coming?” he asked as he passed Kal by, stepping onto the porch in one long stride.

Kal didn’t say anything.

Zeb turned back around to see what the problem was, a small part of him expecting to find Kal vanished after he’d turned his back.

He needn’t have worried about that. Kal was still there, but he looked like he was about to break down. He was breathing again, but raggedly, and his eyes were wide, expression stressed and nearly panicked.

“Hey, Kal, it’s okay,” Zeb said soothingly, setting down the bag and going back down to him. “What’s wrong?”

“Me,” Kal said softly. “I still don’t deserve this with you.”

 _Well, at least he’s talking about it._ “What you _deserve_ doesn’t matter. This is what you _have,”_ Zeb said, wrapping Kal in a tight hug, one hand rubbing his back, trying to calm him down.

Zeb’s reassurance seemed to sink in. Kal took a few moments to compose himself and nodded. “I’m ready.”

Remembering what it was like to come home three months ago after being gone so long, Zeb took the initiative and went first, opening the door to let Kal in.

Stopping a few steps inside, Kal looked around. “You didn’t change anything.”

“I didn’t have the energy to,” Zeb admitted.

Kal looked like he was about to apologize yet again, but stopped himself. 

Zeb was glad. They’d had that conversation on the _Ghost._

 _“I’m_ – _”_

 _“Sorry, I know. You need to stop saying that._ Show _me,” Zeb huffs. “Be open about what you’re thinking instead of just apologizing for every move you make.”_

Kal nodded, licking his lips. “I wish you hadn’t felt so poorly because of me, but I’m pleased things are the same,” he said, obviously choosing his words carefully. “It still feels like home.”

Zeb gave him a soft, encouraging smile. “Do you need help unpacking?”

“No,” Kal said, holding up the rucksack. “I think this all goes into laundry anyway.”

Kal dumped his things into the hamper and then went into the refresher. A minute later, Zeb heard the tell-tale buzz of Kal’s beard trimmer.

 _Odd,_ Zeb thought. Kal didn’t have facial hair any more. What was he cutting?

Zeb poked his head in, catching Kal about to shave off a considerable amount of his own hair.

“Stop,” Zeb said, using a hand to gently make Kal set down the trimmer. “Not your hair.” He loved Kal’s hair loose and shaggy and while it wasn’t exactly long enough for that at the moment, it was getting close.

Kal frowned. “But the brown…”

“Is fine. Trim off a little, but don’t shave it all off at once.”

Kal seemed to understand. “Help me?” he asked, acquiescing and handing the trimmer to Zeb.

Carefully, Zeb cut a couple centimeters of brown hair off of Kal’s head. _There. Still looks like Kal and the blond stands out a bit more._

“Thank you,” Kal said.

Zeb nodded. “We’ll keep doing that as it grows out. You’ll be back to normal before you know it.”

“I hope so.”

It became a routine: every three weeks, Zeb trimmed a little more brown from Kallus’s hair. Each haircut was another small weight lifted off Kallus’s shoulders, helping him feel at home again, as was the return of his signature mutton chops. Zeb’s vociferous support of Kal growing facial hair again made the transition easier as well, though Kal found himself blushing every time Zeb said something.

They’d fallen back into old habits with surprising ease. Kallus took up cooking again, they sparred, they read, they watched bad Imperial-era holovids, Zeb tried growing a garden – only the meiloorun actually came in – and each night, they cuddled up against each other for warmth, Kallus falling asleep in Zeb’s arms.

But that was all. A month in, they still hadn’t kissed or gone any further in bed. It was like they were teenagers nervously dating for the first time.

Kallus fretted whenever he thought Zeb wasn’t looking. _Maybe he’s waiting on me to make a move while I’m waiting on him. Someone’s got to go first. How do I bring this up without it being awkward if it’s because he doesn’t want me?_

One evening, a couple months in, they were watching _Win or Die_ – Zeb laughed heartily at the thinly veiled Imperial propaganda, but Kallus cringed at the worst bits – when the stress of it all got to be too much for Kallus. He’d promised Zeb he’d talk about it when things got like this, so he grabbed the remote and paused the holovid.

Zeb looked at him quizzically. “Everything okay?”

Kallus turned so that his whole body was facing Zeb. “I miss you,” he said.

“What? I’m right here.”

“No, I miss _you.”_ Kallus blatantly eyed Zeb’s body with desire. “I understand if you don’t want that, but I needed to tell you.”

Something changed in Zeb’s expression, but it was a good change. He reached over and encircled Kallus’s hips with his massive hands, resituating him so that he was straddling Zeb’s lap.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Zeb said. He ran fingers through Kallus’s hair, still mostly brown despite the third trimming and the few centimeters of growth since their return, brushing it back from his face. Zeb leaned forward and Kallus met him halfway in a tentative kiss that quickly grew more passionate. They broke and Zeb scented Kallus properly for the first time in over a year. 

Head leaned to the side to give Zeb better access to his neck, Kallus sighed happily.

“Hm?” Zeb hummed as he nibbled at Kallus’s skin.

“I love you,” Kallus said. “And if you’d like to, I want to take you up on that offer from Corulag to mark me completely.”

Zeb paused and Kallus was afraid he’d gone too far, but a familiar and long-awaited hunger appeared in the lasat’s eyes. “I’m not gonna hold back,” he said.

“I don’t want you to.”

Zeb stood straight up, carrying Kallus with his legs around Zeb’s waist, and brought them both to the bedroom. Even as Kallus was unceremoniously dumped on the bed, he watched eagerly as Zeb undressed.

A growl from Zeb stopped Kallus from pulling off his own shirt. “I’m gonna do that.”

Kallus gulped.

“And you’re never leaving me again, y’hear?”

“I– I hear you. I’m not going anywhere, _Zeb!”_ Kallus’s voice cracked on Zeb’s name as the lasat ran hands under his shirt and tweaked his nipples with his claws.

Zeb slowly pulled Kallus’s shirt off, following the fabric with tiny nibbles. Kallus arched his back, exposing more of his stomach.

Soon, Kallus was just as naked as Zeb and as the lasat bit hard into his shoulder, he cried out in bliss.

He’d needed this.

They’d _both_ needed this.

That night seemed to break most of the remaining ice between the two of them. Kallus relaxed, knowing that Zeb still wanted him, and Zeb quit walking nervously around Kallus.

Intimacy became a regular part of their lives again and Kallus slept all the better for it. It made the days easier and the nights more pleasant.

It wasn’t just sex. Now, when he walked past, Zeb would trail his fingers along Kallus’s waist. Their banter while sparring became more heated. Kallus would kiss the top of Zeb’s head as he served lunch. They spoke Lasana more and Basic less.

They received a surprise visit from Chava one day. She used to stop by fairly regularly, before Kallus left, but it was her first visit after his return.

It’d been long enough since then that only the tips of Kallus’s hair were brown; they were close to another haircut day and Kallus couldn’t wait to be rid of this reminder of his stupidity. The fact that they had a visitor while he still had the shameful dye job was supremely embarrassing, even if Chava couldn’t have known why his hair was different.

She prodded Kallus into telling her all he’d done while away. He complied, trying not to blush too deeply as he talked. Reliving that year was almost as bad as actually experiencing it. He got to the part where Zeb found him in the bar and she nodded sagely.

“And so the Child saves the Warrior again,” she said, waving a hand through the air.

Kallus shook his head, ashamed. “This Warrior hurt his Child grievously, though.”

She looked him straight in the eye. “Beings hurt each other. That is the order of things. But however the story goes, it’s the ending that matters.”

Kallus felt Zeb’s hand nudge the back of his and they laced their fingers together, Zeb giving Kallus a squeeze.

Chava nodded in approval.

Two days later, Zeb trimmed the last of the brown from Kallus’s head. Before Kallus had the chance to clean the hair ends from the sink, Zeb pulled him into a hug, one hand stroking Kallus’s freshly-cut blond hair.

“I love you, Alex.”

Kallus froze. _Did I hear that right?_ “Alex?” he asked tentatively.

Zeb rubbed their cheeks together. “Yes. It took him a while to come back, but I have my Alex again.”

Kallus’s cheeks burned, both from the affection and the nickname. “You waited until my hair grew out to call me that?”

“No,” Zeb said, pulling back to look him in the eye. “I waited until I was sure you were staying.”

“So does this mean you’re mine again?”

“I always have been. You need to remember that.”

Kallus smiled. Zeb had his Alex back, but Zeb was _his_ once more.

For the first time in a very long time, Kallus was sure he had everything he needed in life. He wasn’t going to give this up ever again, not after working so hard to regain it.

As if Zeb would let him. Kallus sighed, deeply satisfied with that knowledge, and willingly lost himself in his love’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on tumblr and flail over Rebels and Kalluzeb! [hixystix](https://hixystix.tumblr.com/) is my main blog, and [x-wing-junkie](https://x-wing-junkie.tumblr.com/) is my _Star Wars_ blog. New friends always welcome!


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